


They Still Fit

by LilianRoses



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Clothing Kink, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Top Victor Nikiforov, booty shorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:23:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilianRoses/pseuds/LilianRoses
Summary: Phichit sends Yuuri a box and a dare. Yuuri has always been oblivious and somewhat competitive. By the time he realizes his mistake, it's far too late. Phichit does a good deed in a sort-of-evil way, Yuuri is going to die of embarrassment, and Viktor is thirsty af (and grateful).(Phichit is the S.S Victuuri's captain and you can't convince me otherwise.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Comments fill me with joy! Please leave one! ^v^/

\-----

He really should have realized.

 

Phichit always had ulterior motives. He was friendly and cute and cuddly and looked like he could do no wrong, which made him dangerous. Because when he  _did_ do wrong, no one expected it. Even after knowing him for years and being his  _roommate_ for crying out loud, he still fell victim to his best friend's ridiculous whims and potential for evil. _'Because that's what this was'_ , thought Yuuri, looking at the contents of the box.  _Pure, undeniable, complete fucking evil._  He whipped out his phone to text the Thai skater as much.

 

 **(To) Phichit:** Phichit if these are what I think they are I am going to fly to Thailand just to strangle you

(From): Phichit: Oh good I was wondering when u were going to get them

 **(To): Phichit:** Phichit why tf do you have my old pole dancing class gear

(From): Phichit: I was cleaning out some old stuff and figured ud want it back

 **(To): Phichit:** But y do u have it in the 1st place?????

(From): Phichit: It got mixed up with mine while we were moving out?

(From): Phichit: 2 b honest I dont even kno but its ur stuff so I didnt want 2 just toss it

 **(To): Phichit:** Seriously y would I even want these

(From): Phichit: I dunno I mean Viktor might want 2 see them

 **(To):** Phichit: Not funny.

(From): Phichit: Y so shy? U literally wore them every Mon-Fri for like a year and a half

 **(To): Phichit:** FOR A CLASS

(From): Phichit: Dont think they still fit? Mine do ;)

 

Yuuri looked at the offending garments. He'd thought he'd buried _that_ particular time period of his life six feet underground and stomped on its grave. But there was a tiny, somewhat hurt section of his subconscious muttering petulantly. Did Phichit really think he'd put on that much weight? Sure, he was smaller in various areas back then (and after his awful performance during that one horrific GPF he had gained quite a few inches around the waistline), but he had lost a lot of weight in preparation for the skating season.

 

No. He would _not_ fall victim to Phichit's nefarious schemes again. He was a rational, mature adult who was _not_ going to try on _short-shorts_ from his _college days_ to see if they still fit him.

 

(From): Phichit: If they fit I wont IG pics of u guys for a month

 

Damn it. It was too tempting to pass up. Phichit somehow always managed to take the most embarrassing couple photos of them, and Yuuri couldn't get him to stop. That drunk Viktor selfie from the Cup of China still haunted him sometimes.

 

(To): Phichit: Ur on

\-----

He couldn't believe he had actually gone through with it. He had chosen what looked like the largest pair; a pair of plain black ones with blue stitching. The thought occured to him that they reminded him a little of his ice-skating track jacket, and he put his head in his hands.

 

He'd never be able to look at it the same way again.

 

He was hoping that they would cover the most. That turned out to be a pointless endeavour, because they were short-shorts. They weren't  _made_ to cover anything. If he pulled them up too high, the lower part of his cheeks would show. If he pulled them down, then they rested almost sinfully low on his hips. Even his  _underwear_ seemed more modest than this. But maybe it was the fact that these were technically meant to be worn in public that made it worse.

 

(At least they weren't gaudy; he was pretty sure Phichit had bought him some bright, baby-pink ones at one point.)

 

But once he got over the initial mortification...he had to admit that he didn't look half-bad. He had filled out a little, but the extra meat actually made the shorts look better. If Viktor were here, he was pretty sure words like _'tantalizing'_ and  _'edible'_ would be thrown about. He felt his face heat. Before he could fall further down  _that_ rabbit hole, he texted Phichit.

 

(To): Phichit: They still fit. Keep up ur end of the bargain

(From): Phichit: Wat???? POIDH

 

He (stupidly) sent him a picture of his ass, and received a barrage of winky face emojis and exclamation points. He bit his lip, and looked back over at the box. Well, it  _was_ already open...and he  _did_ feel sort of sexy...and Viktor wouldn't be done with practice until six. A little smile spread across his face. 

 

_Just a few. He'd only try on a few more, and then he'd get rid of all of it._

\-----

Viktor huffed during his jog home. He'd been scheduled for cardio that day, but apparently the gym had been doing some sort of redesign and hadn't told them. They said that they'd be done by the following Monday at the latest. He'd taken it as the grace of whatever holy deity was up there, grabbed his stuff, promised Yakov he'd add distance to his runs to make up for it, and high-tailed it out of the training facility.

 

The familiar ping of a text message alerted him. It was from Yuuri's friend, Phichit, and seemed very vague and mysterious.

 

(From): SelfieMaster: Suprise for u at ur apartment wnevr u finish practice

 **(To): SelfieMaster:** What did u do Phichit

(From): SelfieMaster: Do u not know wat a suprise is or

 

He was not convinced it was innocent. Phichit was made of skillful selfies and mischief.

 

(From): SelfieMaster: Trust me. Ur going to love it. Ur welcome btw.

 

Viktor hurried his pace. He just hoped his husband, dog and apartment were alright.

\-----

Yuuri had been sorting through the box and trying on some of the outfits when he had gotten a horrible idea. It really was awful, but this had been a dream he'd had for  _years._

 

(Literally. His teen years had been an embarrassing time, okay?)

 

And he was ashamed to say that he still had it sometimes. He was suprised Viktor hadn't found out yet. That couldn't happen during the upcoming season; it'd be uncomfortable and embarrassing. But he couldn't just _ask_ , either. The very _thought_  was equally mortifying, married or not. Maybe if he just went through with it _once_ , he'd be satisified. So he dashed to the closet, and shifted through it. It should be in there; he didn't normally wear it to practice, he wore all black-

 

There. It hung in the back, almost calling out to him. Viktor's Team Russia tracksuit.

 

_Viktor's track jacket._

 

He remembered feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush when he had watched Viktor warm-up on TV and thought about how he'd love to wear his jacket. Just for a second. He had thought that he'd get over it, but then he was in college and still wanted to. Phichit hadn't laughed when he told him, he'd done far worse. He'd put his hands on his shoulders and told him that, at this point, it was more like a kink. Yuuri had denied adamantly, saying that it wasn't sexual, he just wanted to like...snuggle in it. Maybe wear it for a day.

 

_(And possibly sniff it but whatever.)_

 

And there it was. He could reach out and touch it. It was _so close_...just once. He removed the jacket from the hanger, and slipped it on.

 

_(He could feel his teenage self screaming.)_

 

The red and white were crisp and vibrant, and the jacket was obviously well taken care of. Viktor may have been thinner, but he was a few inches taller, so it hung lower than his Japan track jacket. He caught a look at himself in the full-length mirror, and almost died. He'd forgotten in his excitement. His current outfit was a pair of all-black shorts (which somehow covered even _less_ than the first pair) and a white crop-top with  _'Nikiforov'_ written in red cursive on the back. Phichit had gotten him the shirt as a joke, and he'd promised himself he'd never wear it. He hadn't realized it was that one until he'd already put it on.

 

Alas.

 

Paired with the jacket, he looked like a groupie. A stripper-groupie. He swore if Viktor ever-

 

"Yuuri?  _моя любовь?_ Are you home?"

 

You had to be  _kidding him._

 

Yuuri's consciousness had apparently had enough of this shit. It shoved his subconscious out of the way, slammed its hand down on the panic button and pretty soon alarms were blaring. This was all in Yuuri's head, of course, but with his reaction, it may as well have been real. He quickly noted the situation.

 

a.) He was wearing Viktor's track jacket.

b.) He was in a shirt with Viktor's  _name on it._

c.) His ass cheeks were hanging out of a pair of barely-there booty shorts.

d.) He was surrounded by clothing meant for a pole-dancing class.

e.) Viktor was home  _three hours early_ and looking for him.

f.) He was going to die of embarrassment.

 

He threw everything close to him back in the box, before realizing that there was no way he'd be able to clean it all before Viktor reached their bedroom. The instinct to continue hiding the evidence and the instinct to attempt to escape were fighting each other, but the instinct to escape won by a hair. He didn't know where to  _go_ , though.

 

(Hell, he would have climbed out the fucking _window_ if he wouldn't have died of hypothermia, the huge fall, or the shame of being on a busy street in these shorts. Most likely a combination of all three.)

 

So in a fit of panic, he abandoned the box of clothing and bolted for the bathroom. He was pretty sure his thundering footsteps alerted Viktor to his location, but he was too far gone at that moment for those thoughts. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock was turned, and he threw his weight against it. This situation felt oddly familiar. Viktor continued to call out for him, but he remained silent as though he'd give up if he hid. Like an explorer holding still so a T-Rex couldn't see him or a cheerleader hiding from a serial killer, he was only prolonging the inevitable.

 

He was going to  _die._

\-----

 Viktor had entered the apartment warily. There didn't  _seem_ to be anything out of place. Makkachin ran up to greet him, and she seemed normal and healthy as well. But he called out to Yuuri, and instead of the usual response, he had heard a panicked yelp, running, and the bathroom door slam shut and lock. Ah. There it was.

 

_Phichit._

 

He kept calling out to him, making his way to their bedroom, and was suprised to see an assortment of clothing scattered across the bed and stuffed haphazardly into a box. Had Yuuri been trying these on? He picked up a garment to get a better look, and flushed.  _Short-shorts._ Picking up more of the items of clothing, the trend continued. Short-shorts, crop-tops, tight leggings; basically all seductive clothing. His imagination was running wild at this point picturing his husband in each one. He froze. Had Yuuri ran because he was  _wearing_ something?

 

Viktor had to know.

 

" _моя любовь,_ why are you hiding in the bathroom? I've had quite a long day, and I'd just  _adore_ a hug from my husband."

 

Yuuri was having a crisis. Which would be more embarrassing, walking out dressed like this or walking out naked? He could always wrap a towel around himself, but he still didn't have on any underwear, and couldn't explain the track jacket.  _Fuck._ Meanwhile, Viktor was not giving up anytime soon.

 

"Yuuuuri...are you alright?"

"I'm fine!"

"Perfect! So will you come out so I can greet you properly?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Reasons."

"What reasons?"

" _Embarrassing_ reasons, alright Viktor?"

"Well that's too bad. I have to shower, but I  _suppose_ you can stay in there with me-"

"What?!"

"A shower,  _моя любовь._ I'd like to have one. And I'm going to have to use the toilet at some point as well."

" _Viktor_ -"

 

Viktor had to purse his lips against a snicker. Usually whining was more his style.

 

" _Yuuri._ Whatever it is that you're worried about, just know that I'm not going to desert you or whatever worst-case scenario you've dreamed up. I'm married to you, and I'm also completely, utterly, _hopelessly_ in love with you. Nothing short of your desire for me to leave could get rid of me at this point."

"...Jerk. Why are you so sweet? It's not fair."

"Because I have an adorable cinnamon roll of a husband who needs and deserves all of the love, care, and reassurance in the world. Now will you  _please_ leave the bathroom so I can shower you with affection?"

"...Do you promise not to laugh?"

"I promise."

"Promise not to get mad?"

"...Promise."

 

It was still about a minute before the lock clicked. Viktor didn't rush him, because he knew Yuuri was breathing through his anxiety. The door creeped open, and Yuuri peeked his head out. Viktor still couldn't see his body, and he couldn't seem to meet his eyes.

 

"...I don't suppose I could convince you to leave while I change, could I?"

"Into one of the other  _garments_ I found?"

 

That got his attention.

 

"You  _looked at them?!"_

"Well, they  _are_ scattered everywhere. And if you're worried because that's what you're wearing, I can assure you. I have  _no_ complaints. Although we might have to burn the red ones; they sort of remind me of JJ."

 

Yuuri frowned.

 

"...Ew."

"Right? But seriously, if you're scared that I'll be disgusted or scared off that **_definitely_** won't happen-"

 

 Yuuri stepped out completely, and the words died in his throat. 

 

Yuuri's curves were being hugged by the  _tiniest_ pair of black shorts he'd ever seen. They shouldn't have been attractive on a man, but his husband had always had hips that most men didn't have. They looked almost like underwear, but the stitching told him otherwise. His slightly tanned legs were hairless, as usual (when he found out  _that_ particular detail, Yuuri had been adamant that it helped with dancing and skating. Phichit had said it was a leftover habit from their pole-dancing days). But that wasn't all. The icing on the cake was that Yuuri was wearing his Team Russia jacket over them.

 

When had he found out about that particular desire of his? Had he been muttering in his sleep? He  _had_ been having some incredibly pleasant dreams lately, now that he was preparing for another competitive season. Yuuri in nothing but the jacket...flashing his most _eros_ smile...pulling him in like that one time he skated in Russia...shit. He suddenly understood what the term 'thirsty' really meant. He couldn't seem to swallow, and his whole mouth had gone dry. Yuuri mistook his hungry silence as something completely different. He went as red as the jacket.

 

"I-I'm sorry I took your jacket without permission! I promise I didn't do anything weird to it or get it dirty! And I know that the shorts are a bit too small...I'm getting rid of it all anyway; just let me change-"

 

Before he could shatter his fantasy completely, Viktor had made his way right in front of him. Just like the time back in Hasetsu, when Viktor had been asking about his true _eros,_ he was pinned to the spot. Viktor's sea-blue eyes had gone dark with intent, and he'd caught Yuuri's hand where it had been preparing to unzip the jacket. Yuuri's own eyes met his, wide and shocked.

 

"I don't think so,  _моя любовь._ Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go shower.  _You,_ however, are going to wait on the bed, dressed exactly as you are now. I'm going to come back, and spend the next few hours taking those clothes off  _for_ you. Any objections?"

 

Yuuri slowly shook his head, eyes still the size of dinner plates.

 

 _"Perfect._ And as for getting rid of the rest of them? That'd just be a crying  _shame._ Don't you agree?"

 

Yuuri nodded once. Viktor smirked. 

 

"I'm glad you agree. See you in a bit, sweetheart."

\-----

When Viktor exited the bathroom, all of the clothing was gone. For a moment he was worried that Yuuri had changed his mind and trashed it all anyway. But a quick scan of the floor revealed that, nope, the decent sized box had been shoved hastily under the bed. They'd find space in the closet for it later. Even if he had to toss out some of his suits to make space, they were  _keeping_ those. His eyes shot to the bed, where his husband had gotten even redder, if possible. He was kneeling on the bed, one leg swinging freely off of the side. But he didn't look panicked or stiff, which was good. 

 

Yuuri's eyes met his under dark lashes. Despite his burning cheeks betraying his inner innocence, his voice was calm.

 

"Vitya...is this a  _kink_ of yours I sense?"

"Depends. Will you wear the outfit more or less often if I say yes?"

 

Yuuri laughed, a sultry little giggle.

 

"I would  _think_ you'd like a little more variety, seeing as how I have so many to choose from."

" _Those_ can change. The jacket has to stay, though."

"It's really ironic. I told Phichit how I've actually always wanted to wear this, even when I was a teenager."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Nothing too naughty. I just wanted to be close enough to you to wear it. You're tainting my childhood, Vitya."

 

He shrieked when Viktor tackled him, Cup of China style. The difference, of course, being that this was warmer, private, and far, _far_ less innocent. Viktor looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. Yuuri wound his arms around his neck.

 

"I can't imagine you being  _completely_ innocent,  _моя любовь._ Don't lie to me."

"Weeelll, I  _did_ have _one_ dream that might not have been the purest. I was in college, and you had just won your...third? I think it was your third gold medal. I imagine you can piece together what happened in it."

"Really?"

"Yup."

"And you were wearing..."

"Mhm."

 

(The jacket stayed on that night.)

\-----

**Epilogue**

 

Yuuri took  _so much advantage_ Viktor's weakness. Whenever they had a day off, or Yuuri didn't want to go out, or he just felt like fucking with his husband (figuratively and usually literally), he'd reach for his jacket. They both should have known it would happen eventually. It had been a rather late night, and they were both sleeping like the dead. When Yuuri groaned, and rolled over to check his phone, he had shrieked that he was late. He had agreed to a stretch-session with Mila that day, and _of course_ he was thirty minutes late already. That's what he got for giving into his stupidly sexy husband when he had morning practice.

 

Yuuri had grabbed the first items of clothing he had seen, throwing them on in a mad dash. He, unlike Viktor, didn't really care if his colors clashed. Most of his workout clothes were grey, blue, or white anyway. That should have been a warning sign, really. But in his state of panic, he'd dashed to the rink, running past the other Russian skaters. Mila looked up, and threw a hand over her mouth. Yuuri groaned.

 

"I know I look like shit, Mila. I woke up super late and didn't have time to-"

"Yuuri. You should have cancelled."

"But you were already here-"

" _Yuuri._ You should have either taken the time to...ahem... _prepare_ yourself, or cancelled. Because do you want the stone-cold truth?"

"You're going to give it to me anyway, so why not. What?"

"You look absolutely, completely,  _thoroughly_ fucked."

"What."

"You  _look_ like Viktor kept you up until the ass-crack of dawn. Your face is flushed, your hair's a mess, and you have bites all over your neck. And you're wearing his jacket, by the way. It looks like it's seen a few things."

 

You could hear Yuuri's scream in Japan.

\-----

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
